Foul Weather Jack
by DieMyDearAlice
Summary: Jill is embraced as a result of an accident and now she is likely to become a lamest ventrue ever. If she survives. LaCroix X OC... if I dare.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note__: I learned the term "Foul Weather Jack" from the rulebook of the "7thSea" RPG. It basically means that if your character was lucky (unlucky?) to get this quality, troubles will always find him. There is a good thing though – you'll never get bored._

_Few more things. I'm not a native english-speaker, so it would be great if you'd point out any mistakes you find. To be honest, I was a bit scared to post this fanfic because I re-read and re-wrote some parts of it so many times I can't tell wether they are good or terrible anymore. So I hope you'll tell me._

Well, this day was utterly depressing. During breakfast I bumped my elbow hard against the kitchen table, then I found out that I ran out of coffee (no morning coffee for losers!), and now I'm hopelessly screwing up today's tasks on my new job. Oh, and my insurance company kindly reminded me that I haven't paid my bill last month. Of course, I haven't – my bank account was empty (damn, I probably shouldn't have bought that playstation). Cost planning was never my strong point, I admit.

And now, this beautiful day got a chance to get crowned with my dismissal. Writing the report wasn't reaching anywhere near completion because for some reason I felt as though I was a savage with, like, three and half words in my vocabulary. I glanced at the watch on the office wall. What, 8.00 pm already? Great, looks like I'm staying for more unpaid working hours. Again.

Sighing heavily, I tore my gaze from the computer monitor and started observing my co-workers. Almost all of them looked not older than 35, and I wondered if it was something like unspoken company politics – young blood, non-conservative opinions and such. I have heard that the owner of the company was pretty far from old himself, although I have never met him in person and cannot tell it for sure. I suspect that for some females in the office one could never be "too old" if his bank account is impressive enough. God knows, I could do with some extra money, but the idea of dating rich old men is just too much. Last people on whom I was ever dependent were my parents and I prefer it to stay that way. Of course, I could still ask them for money and they would never refuse, but for God's sake - I was already 24! _And_ it returns us to the point - why am I such a looser at this age? It's a rhetorical question, I guess.

Well, who knows, maybe this job is a chance to finally gain some stability in my life. I have successfully completed my probationary period a week ago and the company hired me, which, I must say, was a pleasant surprise, for there were a lot of facts in my résumé that one may call uh… not completely veracious. For example, I don't speak oriya. And I'm not an expert in microeconomics either – I got my excellent grade because I once caught my college teacher with a tranny hooker. I also noted fencing as one of my hobbies. Not a necessary lie, but it sounded impressive and who on earth could catch me out on this? Anyway, who _doesn't_ lie in a résumé?

Continuous pen clicking pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked around searching for the source of irritating noise and found it almost immediately. It was Mr. Jason – our communication manager, a bit sickly looking man with mouse-grey hair. A thing that caught my eye when we first met was that he had two golden teeth. This man, he definitely owns a time machine. Come on, anyone implanting golden teeth in our century? But apart from that, something seemed out of place about him now. A strange look in his eyes… fear? No, not that. More like quiet desperation, if that even makes sense. Wait, didn't he go to retrieve some package at the reception? But it looks like he came back without it. I wasn't paying that much attention to his actions, so he could have already put it somewhere. Or there was something wrong with the package and he had sent it back? It could be the reason why he looked so disturbed… I guess.

- Hey, Jill, wanna make a quick smoke break?

A brown-haired, somewhat plump woman smiled at me, shaking a pack of "Camel" before my eyes. Margaret. She was really nice towards me from the beginning of my probation period and I had a good feeling that we may grow to be friends. When we met in the smoking room three weeks ago, she described some of our fellow office-dwellers for me and I instantly liked her sardonic sense of humor.

- Yeah, sure, I wouldn't mind a little rest. Looks like I'm stuck here for two more hours at least.

- Oh, no! You have to stay late again? I was expecting that we're going to…

She froze in the mid-sentence, looking wide-eyed at something behind my back.

You rarely see a look of pure horror on someone's face. Not a God-There-Is-A-Spider-On-Your-Shoulder-look or A-Head-Of-Department-We-Were-Rumoring-About-Stands-Behind-Your-Back-look. No, a look of animal, bodily fear.

Just when I gathered courage to turn around, Margret yelled at the top of her voice. And then… I didn't understand what happened right away. A loud BANG echoed through the room. Instinctively I closed my eyes tight. Sharp burning sensation bit my shoulder and at the same second something hot splashed on my blouse. My eyes opened and it was all red. What in the name of God is happening? I couldn't force my brain to explain the chaos I was observing - the only thing that was familiar to me in this maroon Universe was Margaret's face. For some reason, she was lying on the floor, twitching convulsively. Her throat was a total mess: blood was gushing from her carotid artery, accompanied by the disgusting gurgling sound. Little red bubbles were making their way down from the corner of her mouth. And her gaze… her frighteningly empty gaze was locked upon me.

Sudden panic forced me to look away from this ominous redness, when I heard a hissing sound. Fighting dizziness I looked around and witnessed a scene that made even less sense. Mr. Jason was standing in the middle of the office, clenching a smoking gun and pressing an index finger to his lips.

- Shhhhhhh. Everything will be fine if you all stay quiet.

I just stood there dumbstruck, his words echoing in my mind. _Everything will be fine_. I looked at him, mind and body paralyzed, never so _far_ from "fine" in my entire life. My confusion was slowly turning into realization that something horrible and irrevocable happened.

Fine, fine, fine - a word was dancing through my mind.

Why did he do it?

…everything will be fine…

Liar.

Growing anger had cleared my consciousness. Fine, huh?! Say that to Margaret, you darned madman…

Margaret! I swung around to look at her and felt my insides freezing. She wasn't moving, wasn't breathing and a huge pool of blood was growing around her neck. It was all over for her.

There she was lying, few feet from the entrance. If we only had headed for the smoke break a minute earlier, we would have been in the safety, both of us. If only…

I gulped down a lump in my throat and looked around at my co-workers. Everyone was silent and numb, staring shocked at Mr. Jason, who was now aiming a gun at the closed door. He was visibly perspiring; his face unusually red, hands slightly shaking. What was he doing? Was there any purpose in his actions or was he just acting on a sudden whim of his delusional mind? I was praying that someone has heard a gunshot and a scream. This tower was full of people, surely someone has to come for the rescue. Or maybe these walls are soundproof? No idea. I really hope they're not. So much for all that security, all that metal detectors in the lobby! Someone would definitely come after all, but the question is whether we will live to tell the story.

The minutes that passed left everything unchanged. We were all still standing like a fucking Madame Tussaud's museum installation. My shoulder was aching – I think it was brushed by the bullet.

Suddenly a door handle started to turn. It seemed as if regular time flow had switched over to the slow motion. I threw a fast glance at Mr. Jason. As he noticed the door was opening, his eyes lit up and his finger tensed on the trigger.

- …santly surprized with this recently reorganized department, - I heard woman's voice chirping enthusiastically from behind the door.

A moment 'till the door was completely open felt like eternity. My heart was beating so fast that I feared it would jump out of my chest. The door was opened by the woman in a dark blue business outfit. In a twinkling her face expression changed from excited to shocked, when she noticed Mr. Jason. At that very instant the second shot deafened me and the woman just... she just…

…_turned into ashes_. It couldn't be possible, could it? Had I just had some kind of hallucination? But I had no time for reflection: as the ashes vanished from my view more gunshots followed in the direction of the second intruder. It was a fair-haired man in a grey suit, and right now it was turning red quickly. Two, three, four bullets had hit the target. The man swayed but didn't fall, his face full with anger and disdain, and total astonishment. My gaze was glued to his face when I saw its expression change; I can't describe it – it was… demonic. All that had left about him was animal rage, it filled my insides with pure dread. He dashed forward to Mr. Jason and brought him down in a moment, clenching his throat so hard that it made a crackling sound and then tore it out with _bare hands_. Blood was gushing on the floor and it all looked like a bad horror-movie. The man that killed Mr. Jason, he didn't look like a human anymore. I had no pity for Margaret's killer, but it occurred to me that he wasn't nearly as dangerous as that… creature on top of him. It gazed around and – oh, God – looked at me. I didn't even realize what happened: in a matter of seconds I felt a hard grip on my shoulders and then I was looking into cold grey eyes of a monster. I didn't have time even to struggle, when he tilted his head and sunk his teeth brutally into my neck. In spite of a sharp pain I couldn't bring myself to fight. I wanted, I really wanted – but I just wasn't able to. And then a strange light-heartedness filled my mind. Waves of pleasure started spreading through my body like ripples in the water. A feeling similar to drunkenness, when you stop caring about anything and the consciousness flows away with every heartbeat. But it was even more then that. I was feeling safe, and happy, and desired. I was feeling like the best day of my life.

_You're dying_, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered.

I couldn't care less, voice. If I had to die to prolong this beautiful feeling, then so be it. Goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

I was lying awake with my eyes still closed, savoring the sweetness of a good long sleep. I've never slept as long as I'd like since I got a new job, so resting there, on the feather soft silk sheets was extremely pleasurable. Silk sheets, hmm… Funny, I don't recall having any at home.

Wait… what?

I opened my eyes and found myself lying in a huge four-poster bed covered with forest-green sheets. And of course, it wasn't my homely little room in Santa Monica. I'm not a specialist, but furnishing here looked pretty expensive. Big mirrored wardrobe was occupying a wall to the left, at the right wall there was an elegant table, wood matching to the one of the bed. Black glossy notebook on the table was so thin that I didn't notice it right away. There also was a door on the right, possibly leading to the bathroom. Another door was on the wall opposite to the bed, but where it was leading was a mystery to me. What if there is someone behind it? I strained my hearing but didn't notice anything suspicious – only clock ticking and a tiny buzz of electronics (probably a fridge) somewhere in the next room. But after a while I started hearing – on the very verge of silence – noises of the street: cars, people talking, radio playing one of the new popular songs. Well well, such refined furniture and such a lame soundproof system.  
No living being on the other side of the door was to hear though.

But no matter, what am I doing here?

The feeling of extreme thirst gave me the idea that I may have drunk a little too much last night. Okay, maybe not that little considering that I have no idea where I am. I've never suffered alcoholic amnesia before but there is always a first time, is it?

Trying to remain silent for some reason, I got out of bed and went to the exit (or what I believed to be it) with a strong sense of anxiety. Going past the wardrobe I threw a glance at the mirror and the view made me stop at once. Remember what do they say about long and healthy sleep making us beautiful? So very true. I couldn't recall looking so prettily for ages, especially without any makeup and right after the waking! Hell, my hair _never_ looked that shiny and vivid, although it made my skin look even paler then usual. But a sudden stroke of narcissism stopped as abruptly as it started when my gaze fell on my blood-stained blouse. I let out a sob, Margaret's dead empty eyes appearing in my memory as terrifying as they were in reality. It wasn't just a bad dream or alcohol - here, on my clothes was the evidence, clear as day. Nevertheless, I refused to believe. These things, they happen to other people, not to me, not to my friends or loved ones. It is just preposterous! But no matter how long I mesmerized that cursed reddish marks, they refused to vanish. So if Margaret's death was real, also was true what happened next? I swiftly turned the bitten side of my neck to the mirror, and found nothing but intact white skin. No bruises, not even a scratch. Is that even possible?! No, of course it is not. And not just that, everything that happened after the second gunshot was unbelievable. The woman, turning into ashes in the matter of seconds. The man, who disregarded vital wounds and then turned into a monster, killed Mr. Jason and after that… No, it's impossible. The only explanation is that it was a hallucination. The stress was too severe and now something inside my head is broken beyond repair. Oh, my… I think now I can understand what that desperation in Mr. Jason's eyes meant. Soon they will put me into some creepy nuthouse and drug me and electroshock me until I loose the last bit of sanity I still have. Do they still practice lobotomy in asylums? Who could have guessed, I may happen to be even crazier than Mr. Jason. Oh God, and what if I dreamed up that part too? What if he had never shoot anyone, what if _I_ did it?

Now I was completely confused. What should I do?

First, find the way out of here. This room with no windows started to get on my nerves. I half expected the door to be closed, but it opened easily and silently. I stepped in another room. This one was bigger than the bedroom, furnished in the same style. It had a few high bookcases, a coffee table and a comfy looking sofa near it. In the further part of the room I noticed a bar. For a moment I considered the idea to go and find something to drink there, but I had no time to explore the insides of the fridge. I'll drink as much as I want when I get out of here. I went to the wall-high windows and looked out. It was nighttime, but more importantly – I momentarily recognized the view! I was in the VentureTower. I never knew there were living quarters here. Although, I never went that high in the building.

I rushed to the exit of the suite, but to no use – the door was closed. So I really am a prisoner. I guess after I gone mad someone managed to knock me out and bring me here to wait for the police. Dammit. I am _so_ going to madhouse if I don't find a way to flee right now.

I examined the door lock: there was no place for the key – it must open with the card. Even if I knew how to unlock such things, I still had no instruments, not even a hairpin. A quick inspection of the room was unsuccessful; there was nothing helpful to be found. Panic began to creep through my insides.

I can not give up now or else I'm screwed.

My gaze was wondering through the room, vainly looking for some hint, and finally resting on the window. I went there once again and looked out. Even if I could somehow break through the solid glass, I still doubted that I'll be able to find a rope long enough to descend to the ground. For all I knew, this may even have been one of the last floors in the Tower.

But what if I manage to ladder just a few meters down and break through the window of the next floor? Of course, the room below may be closed too, but… No. What a stupid idea. Looks like I watched too many action movies. And besides, possible escape is not worth risking my life like that. Better to be thrown to the prison or a madhouse.

And probably get raped there. And drugged. And lobotomized.

…

Okay, changed my mind! Now how should break that window?

I grabbed a chair near the bookshelves (which was oddly light) and aimed a blow to the glass. I raised it over my head and… shit, it must have stuck in the chandeliers or something because I couldn't move it no matter how hard I pulled. Still holding the damned chair I awkwardly turned my head towards the possible source of the problem.

Seeing it made me let out a high-pitched scream and promptly let go of the chair. That stupid worthless piece of wood didn't even fall, and you know why? Because it was held by the hand of the man from my hallucination. That very man who presumably went berserk in the office, killed Mr. Jason and attacked me. And he looked pretty real to me. I wish it was the police instead.

He calmly put the chair back on the floor, his intense gaze never leaving my face, and then finally broke the silence:

- What do you think you're doing?

He sounded more tired than irritated but I still couldn't help but make a step back. And then few more, until a table was between us. I hadn't had any idea what was happening but if there was even a tiny little chance that what I saw in the office was real… I better be as far from him as I can. As he regarded my movements, his left eyebrow lifted a little, picturing a polite surprise.

I couldn't bring myself to speak, so I just studied him for a minute or so. He wasn't tall – maybe a little taller than me. His bright hair was lying perfect – in fact, "perfect" was the most accurate word to describe everything about his looks: his suit, his shoes, his gestures. Refined. Exquisite. Even his face wasn't TOO handsome. Nice-looking, yes, but definitely not a type from the love-novel illustration.

Am I seriously pondering over his appearance in such a moment?

He must have realized that I'm not… in the condition to answer anything right now, so he sighed and spoke again:

- I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Sebastian LaCroix, I am the founder and CEO of the LaCroix foundation, – if he had expected some reaction, it was in vain. – You don't realize it yet, but from now on your life will change. Drastically.

Tornado of crazy thoughts flashed through my head and I finally blurted out:

- Are you going to kill me?

His face made a strange expression.

- I believe it's a bit too late for that, – He turned around and leisurely paced to the bar.

If that's some kind of joke - it's not funny at all.

I was getting tired of all the incomprehensible things happening. Someone please bring me home… or to the police station, anyplace away from here.

I started to tremble – there we go, I must have reached my emotional limit. On top of that, the thirst was literally killing me now. Unable to do anything else, I just watched as LaCroix opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine. As he started to uncork it, my dizziness turned into growing headache. Untypically for the stress situation, my heart wasn't pounding hard in the chest. I wondered dreamily whether it is a sign of a heart attack.

My thoughts were interrupted by a quiet "pop" of the opening bottle and at the same second a magnificent scent filled the air. Every thought and every fear that bothered me flew out of my head momentarily, leaving only the desire to inhale the salty metallic odour of the liquid. Entranced by it, I moved to the bar. My wish to taste it was unbearable, almost painful. Everything was as if in the maze: _red fluid filling the glass, a hand gives it to me - oh yes yes yes I gulp it down immediately, I devour it and it's ecstasy, ecstasy so intense I think I will go mad_. It's not enough so I drink another glass, and another, and another until the bottle is empty. I still don't fell satiated but at least the thirst doesn't burn me anymore and my vision clears. I can think again.

Gosh!

I have no idea what happened but guess what? Drinking will not solve your problems, folks. Just now it raised even more questions. Confused, I stared first at the empty glass, then at LaCroix. A smug smile appeared on his face.

- I can see it was to your liking. Well, that's only to be expected – the vitae was of the highest quality.

The Vitae? Can't say I've ever heard of this wine brand. Or whatever it was – not that it really bothered me right now. I was relieved to see that the man is not intending to harm me. For the time being at least.

- Thus, after you were fed and (I hope so) no longer in the mood for crushing windows in this suite, we can proceed to your… instruction, - LaCoix readjusted his cuff links and threw me a glance of apprehension, as if speculating whether or not I even get what he's saying.

I'd be offended if I wasn't so confused.

- First of all, you are no longer alive.


	3. Chapter 3

LaCroix left about an hour ago, mentioning some other important "matters to attend to" and leaving me alone with all that weird stuff I had to comprehend. Indeed, there was a lot to think about, but my mind was blissfully empty at the moment, so I was just sitting on the floor in the main chamber, forehead leaned against the large panoramic window I almost broke today.

Nice view. Even better than from my office – or should I say "former office"? So much for "finally getting a good permanent job", heh. Mom is going to be upset. Well, she would be even more disappointed if I told her I probably lost my immortal soul too. She kind of valued that one. Good thing I'm not that religious to actually believe in it. Anyway, as far as I understood, I'm not really allowed to tell people what I am now. Masquerade, big secret. "You have to cut all ties with your mortal friends and relatives… for their own good" he said. Oh come on, this conspiracy thing can't be _that_ strict. Perhaps I could still visit my parents secretly? It would be pretty hard to explain my sudden sunlight intolerance though.

This problem will require some thinking but… I'll still have time to find a way later, do I?

Postponing decisions is a thing I happen to be pretty good at, which is why I chose to leave it be for now.

Apart from that, I was having no problem with being undead. Not to mention that it is much better than to be nuts, as I thought I was. As a matter of fact, being undead wasn't a whole lot different from being alive. I mean – I can walk, I can talk, I can see. Looks like I don't even have to sleep in the coffin – I asked LaCroix about it specifically and got from him a glare which clearly stated that it is the most stupid thing he'd ever heard. Whatever, I just had to ask.

And to think that vampires don't age! I've read that legend about Cain, that he was cursed by God and, well… Call me superficial but immortality looks more like blessing than damnation to me. LaCroix said he was – what, 200 years old already? And he doesn't look like someone who had lost the interest in life… uh, unlife yet. Wow, I can still hardly believe it. And there are even older vampires (damn, I should call them differently, but I forgot the right word). Someone who lives for a thousand years must be as wise as Buddha, no less! I should ask LaCroix if he knows someone that old.

There are some disadvantages of this new state, of course. For example, I'll never be able to walk in the sunlight again. Pffft, what a loss. But being a creature of the night was probably not that nice until the electricity was invented – to burn so many candles every night must have cost a fortune. Wait, maybe we have a night vision? That would be only logical. I hurried to the dark bedroom to test my theory straight away.

Alas. The same darkness that I could see as a human. I returned to the window feeling a bit upset.

Oh well, there are still a lot of other cool things. Like "Disciplines" which are basically some special vampiric powers (but you have to learn how to use them first)! LaCroix briefly referred to three disciplines of our bloodline, but I memorized only the hypnotic ability.

By the way, how should I address him now? He said that he was the one who "embraced" me and now I'm his child. Should I call him "father" then? That would be awkward to say the least. Wait, he did mention another strange word referring to it… which was… gosh, these guys have one hell of a turgid vocabulary… oh, I remembered – Sire!

But it still sounds silly. I guess I'll just call him Mr. LaCroix – he was my boss after all. Huh, 'My boss is a vampire' would make a great name for the book or TV-series. I wonder if any human in the company knows who they are working for. I know I didn't.

I closed my eyes and sighed. What a day!

I was undoubtedly lucky and so on but one unpleasant thought was still bugging me.

"Ventrue is the clan of leaders"

"a lot is demanded from us"

"endowed with a variety of talents"

... et cetera, et cetera.

I'd hate to be pessimistic, but I might happen to be the lamest ventrue ever. No great fortune, no special talents – nothing. Just an average person, embraced as a result of an accident.

Oh look – yet another problem I'm not going to think about today! If there was a clan for those who hates responsibility, I'd fit there perfectly.

Back to recounting good news – that monstrous behavior with tearing out throats and biting me to death was a kind of vampire temporary craziness. You may go berserk if you are extremely hungry or you take a lot of damage (which was exactly the case). It's some sort of survival instinct. "Beast" took over, as LaCroix told me. From the point of a vampire, I think it's not that bad. If you took that much damage as a human, you'd probably just die.

Feeling a wave of enthusiasm raising in my chest, I got up and headed to the coffee table. It was occupied by the enormous pile of books my Sire gave me to study. Looks like you have to know quite a lot to become a decent vampire. I took one tome from the top. It would look good in one of the Indiana Jones movies – a thick folio, covered with frayed brown leather. The title was engraved in golden letters: Ventrue Family History**:** Family Tree & Genealogy. Vampire history? It's bound to be interesting. I opened the book randomly in the middle.

_Upton Rowlands 7 (1769:1826) Progeny of Georgia Rowlands. [DC,p59]_

_Eleanor 7 (:1864) Progeny of Baylor. Sire of Benjamin (1964). [NA]_

_Joshua McCallister 7 Progeny of Baylor. [NA]_

_Lodin 7 (+1993) Progeny of Datura. Sire of Ballard (1881), Drummond (1881), Hinds (1894), Neally (1896), Capone (1941), Peterson (1978), Schumpeter (1981), Jackson (1984), Weatherbottom (1984), Riggs, Thornhill, Lorraine (1987). [CbN] [CbN2]_

Um… Interesting? More like deadly boring. I turned few more pages. Regrettably, no thrilling stories to be found. It was, in fact, a book of _geneology_. Not wanting to surrender, I laid that one down and took another book. It seemed to be a book of etiquette, written in old English. I needed good fifteen minutes just to make out what the heck is written in the first paragraph. And it's not even the common vampire etiquette – it's just for _ventrue_. Good thing that vampires don't eat, or the book would be much thicker, with all the rules about which fork and knife to use for which course. But I wouldn't be surprised if they use different goblets for different blood types. Arrogantly looking Bela Lugoshi in his Dracula outfit appeared in my imagination: "Oh my, are you drinking O+ from the AB glass? What a barbarian!" I cringed and closed the book with a slam. Don't you teach me how to behave, stupid imaginary bloodsucker!

Anyway, it would be strange to start studying the same day I was embraced. I should be occupied with mourning my loss of humanity and surmounting the shock of metamorphosis into the horrible being of the night. I was actually a bit disappointed by the lack of emotional anguish I experienced. Oh well.

I hadn't much to do other then wait for someone to bring my stuff to my new "home". LaCroix _specifically_ told me not to go out for it myself. I still wasn't sure whether I like the idea of moving here but then again… I wasn't exactly given a choice. So I amused myself with inspecting the suite, while quietly humming some indefinite melodies. I noticed a TV near the bar; turned it on, after minute turned it off. I wish my playstation was here – shooting aliens would really help to kill some time.

After what seemed like eternity – or 2 hours 12 minutes, to be precise – someone knocked at the door. I rushed there and opened it, almost tearing the wooden frame out with the hinges. That must have been pretty fast because the man standing on the threshold looked a bit surprised. For a few moments we inspected each other curiously. He was dressed like a gangster from the 80's – brightly colored shirt underneath the jacket, thick golden chain on the neck.

- I brought your belongings, missy. Wish me to bring 'em here right now?

Nooo, of course not. I'm quite all right as it is, without any change of clothes or anything. Excuse me but I better be going – to, you know, continue boring myself to death.

- That would be great, thank you.

- 'key then. Leave the door open, I'll be back in a minute.

What a relief. I can finally have a shower and take off that blood-stained blouse. I had an irresistible wish to burn it afterwards. I felt a bit guilty for wanting to forget about Margaret's death – mostly because after the first shock was gone I found out that I wasn't nearly as traumatized as I thought I'd be. Not that I didn't care – it's just that my happiness of being alive (not quite, but still) overshadowed my sorrow by far. It felt… wrong.

Thankfully, my reflection was interrupted – a man returned carrying two huge boxes filled with my stuff. "There you go", - he put them on the floor and groaned, stretching his limbs. Before he headed back to bring the rest, I leapt up form the couch.

- Maybe I can help you? – He seemed surprised by my offer, - together we'll make it faster.

Doubt was written on his face.

- Eh, I don't know, dolly. Prince's Childe shouldn't do the work of a mover.

Not that I'm a big fan of physical work but I really couldn't bear the silence of my suite anymore. It would be nice to go out for fresh air, too.

- Come on, that's not a big deal. There must be many boxes left to carry and I have nothing else to do anyway.

As much as I'd like to believe in my brilliant persuasion skills, I suspect that he'd still prefer to do it by himself. But noticing my pleading expression, he surrendered.

- Well, if you insist, missy… Let's go then. By the way, name's Mercurio.

- Jill, - I hurried after Mercurio to the elevator. He pressed the ground floor button.

- You know, your face looks familiar, Jill. Have you, by chance, bought some of my stuff?

- Your stuff? Like… drugs?

- Nah, I don't deal that shit. Mostly just help friends by getting them what they need… for a certain price. Sadly, the majority of them needs guns or ammo, but one does not judge a friend, does he? – He winked at me.

- I've never held a gun in my life. But now that you've mentioned, I think I saw you before.

I hope not in the crime news round-up.

- No surprise. I live in Santa Monica too, not far from your apartment. That's why boss charged me with bringing your belongings. – Mercurio scratched the bristle on his broad chin, – Heh. I still hardly believe he decided to embrace someone. Not to mention that you don't look like… uh, ventrue type. No offence, kid.

So it's _that_ obvious.

- None taken. You're right, I kind of feel out of place here. Not sure if I can meet the requirements, so to speak.

- Yeah, LaCroix can be quite exacting. But don't meet trouble halfway – you're here, which means he must have spotted a good potential in you.

Unless he embraced me by accident. Great.

Still, I appreciated the effort to reassure me and smiled at Mercurio. Elevator finally stopped and doors opened with a familiar "bing". We went through the lobby and outside the building. A breath of fresh air was exactly what I needed. It felt completely different though – the smells, the sounds – they seemed much stronger then I remembered. I even had to stop for a moment to cope with the overwhelming load on my senses.

Mercurio looked at me understandingly.

- You'll get used to it eventually. When I became a ghoul, it started to drive me crazy that my neighbor talked too loud. I literally could hear everything he spoke in his apartment; it almost came to blows before I figured out the reason was in my new wild receptivity. I guess you vamps have it even harder, but trust me, you'll get accustomed.

- I'll take your word for it. But what does it mean – you "became a ghoul"?

- Ah, that's right. You're still fresh. As LaCroix is your Sire, I think he will teach you the most things you need to know. But seeing that we have some time, I can enlighten you on some fields too, if you wish.

Of course, I accepted his offer. Mercurio was a good company – interesting to listen to and simple. After he told me what he knew about ghouls and vampire clans, we just chatted carefree, so time went by pretty fast. When we brought last two boxes to my suite, he bid farewell and left me to unpack my things.

Less then an hour later growing sleepiness alerted me of the approaching dawn.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry for the long break. To be honest, after posting first three chapters I assured myself that no-one will read it anyway and forgot about the fanfic. But when I checked my email after a few months I was shocked to find REVIEVS there! aberdeenkev even reviewed twice! Wow, guys, I'm truly flattered that you found it interesting. *w* So I've played Bloodlines for the umpteenth time to get myself in the right mood and wrote two more chapters. Please, enjoy! And if you notice any mistakes, I would really appreciate it if you pointed them out for me (my Beta is too busy with her studies, so I'm all alone from now on)!_

The next evening I woke up with an iron determination not to waste any time. Unfortunately, I barely had few minutes to have 'breakfast' and plug in my playstation when the phone alerted me of the new incoming message. Which was brief:_ "Get dressed in a sportswear and come to my office, PH 75 floor. SL"_. What "SL" meant came home to me only after a few seconds. Then my gaze fell upon the word "sportswear" and I started to loose my good spirits. There were not many things in life that I hated more than sport activities. I had my full of it in school, returning from physical education lessons red-faced and sweaty. Ugh, I felt disgusted just remembering it. I could never understand why would anyone willingly exhaust oneself in the gym or jog for kilometers in the row and what for? It's 21st century – it's not like we need to hunt mammoths to survive.

I tried to convince myself that putting on training suit doesn't necessary mean indulging in sports. Why the hell would I need that? I'm a goddamn vampire, stronger then Arnold Schwarzenegger already! Nevertheless, I went to the wardrobe to find something suitable for a treadmill-running. Last thing I wanted to do was to piss off the person I was now dependent on.

So after getting dressed I shoved the key-card to the suite in my pocket and went out to the elevator. I didn't have to wait long before it came and the doors slided open – the cabin was empty. Duh, of course! I bet there is a separate elevator for the living quarters – LaCroix doesn't make an impression of a man who would want to share the same space with his subordinates any longer than necessary.

Okay, I'm probably being unfair now. I don't know him well; he could actually be a nice guy. Optimistically smiling, I stepped into the cabin.

Oops. No! Why did I… Ugh, I pressed the button of the 7th floor. I did it completely from force of a habit – there is my former office on that floor. Damn, why am I always spacing out like that? Where is the 'cancel' button?.. Oh, right, there is no such thing as 'a cancel button' in the elevator.

I sighed. All right, I'll just have to endure this fun ride. At least there is a mirror in here. Hmm, so the vampires _do_ reflect in the mirrors. I stared at myself. Yes, now I can see that I'm looking different. My irises didn't turn red and my fangs are not that noticeable but still… there was something insensible, something that made me shudder a little. I shut my eyes for a second to shake off that creepy feeling.

Wait, I know what I have to do right now! Still looking at the mirror, I bared my teeth and then spoke with the affectedness and a bit of a fake accent: _'Wolfs, children of the night. What music they make!'_ Then I rapidly covered my face with an imaginary cloak.

Wow, that was a _real_ bad Dracula impersonation. Elevator stopped and I swiftly stroke a casual pose but after the doors opened I witnessed only the silent emptiness of the corridor. I suddenly felt the urge to see my former workplace again – the place, where it all happened. I pondered over the thought that I probably shouldn't make LaCroix wait but the curiosity finally got the better of me. I stepped into the hallway, for some reason trying not to make much noise, and headed for the third door to the left. Something was leaned to the wall there. Coming closer, I realized it was a big wreath. Two framed black and white photos were positioned near it – Margaret's and Mr. Jason's. On the piece of paper attached to the wall I read: _'On April, 2 of this year a horrible accident took lives of two wonderful people – Dederick Jason and Margaret Taylor. May God bless and keep them in His care now and forever. R.I.P.'_.

I re-read it twice. What the hell? _An accident_?

The creaking of opening door caught me completely off-guard. I didn't expect to meet anyone here – it was long past official working hours. As I frantically tried to come up with an excuse for being here, someone's head stuck out of the door. It was Don, our programming specialist.

- What are you doing here, miss?

- Umm, Don, it's me, Jill. – He looked puzzled, - Jill Donovan, remember?

He frowned and slowly shook his head.

- I'm sorry, miss, but I really don't recognize you. You work somewhere on this floor?

Well this is becoming ridiculous. We surely didn't communicate that much but he should have at least known me by sight!

- Why yes, Don, yes, I worked here. I was friends with Margaret!

His expression softened.

- Oh, I see. You came to mourn, then. – He gulped down a lump in his throat, – I still can't believe she's… gone.

Poor guy, he had a massive crush on Margaret but couldn't summon up the courage to ask her out. And now he'll never have the chance to do it.

I normally wasn't very whiny and it wasn't a good time for it but all the same my eyes dampened. Don's concerned voice distracted me from my thoughts:

- Miss, are you all right? You're… you're bleeding! – Surprised, I looked at him. Don was pointing at my face.

Bleeding? I touched my cheek, brushing off a wet track, and stared at my fingers. What the..? It was, indeed, blood! Why am I crying blood? What kind of a horrible disease is that?! Am I going to di… wait. Oh. Oooooh.

- That's uh… it's ok, it happens sometimes. It's a… chronic eye illness. Don't worry, it's not contagious.

_Well, not respiratory anyway._

He still looked a bit shocked. No wonder, I would be, too.

Anyway, there was just one last question I had to ask.

- Can you tell me what happened that day?

I felt stupid not to get it straight away. Obviously, LaCroix couldn't have that many humans know that vampires exist. I bet he used that hypnotic venture ability on them. Question is, what did he make them believe into?

- So you haven't heard yet? Police found them on the bus station not far from the VentureTower. They were both shot, probably by some junkie who wanted to rob them. No witnesses. - He sighed yet again, - I should have seen her home… This city is just too dangerous.

He looked like he was going to start crying any second.

- You shouldn't blame yourself, Don. What could you possibly do against a man with a gun? Mr. Jason was with her but it still hadn't helped.

He nodded silently, not looking at me. We stood in silence for a few seconds. There wasn't anything more I could say or do, so I mumbled "I should go" and retreated to the elevator.

Going up to the penthouse, I had some time to think. It was a pure luck that I mentioned to Don my friendship with Margaret! Otherwise our little chit-chat could have ended with him calling the security. Why hadn't LaCroix mentioned to me that he erased memories of the witnesses? I had an urge to reproach him with it but something told me it wouldn't be the smartest thing to do. It would be better if I just pretended that I guessed it by myself.

The fact that my former colleagues didn't remember me anymore made me feel somewhat lonely. How great could it be if dice rolled a tad bit differently and Margaret became a vamp too! I bet she would look hilarious – an intimidating being of the night with plump cheeks. I smirked but my grin faded in a second when I remembered her black-and-white photo in a frame. Like my grandmother used to say: "If ifs and ans were pots and pans…".

A loud "bing" alerted me of the arrival to the destined 75th floor and I forced myself to concentrate. I still didn't know what to expect.


	5. Chapter 5

I knocked, no-one answered, so after waiting few seconds I just came in. It was a huge, somewhat minimalistically furnished room, decorated in barock-style. A carpet strip ran across the center of the room to the table, where sat - as expected - LaCroix. He didn't greet me, not even lifted his gaze from the papers. I just kinda awkwardly stood there, not knowing where to put my hands so that it wouldn't look stupid.

And then I noticed a giant figure behind LaCroix. Wide-eyed I stared at the scary-looking guy in leather cloak with an enormous sword behind his back. I believe I forgot how to close my mouth for a minute or two. Does he come straight out of the "Blade" movie series? And he's standing so still, gazing lifeless into the space and… Yikes! He looked at me! If I could sweat, I'd probably had to wipe my forehead. Thank God, he averted his gaze eventually.

I looked back at the blond man sitting at the desk. I couldn't help but wonder if all vampires are so extravagant. Does he receive visitors here, in this pompous room and in presence of his… uh, bodyguard, I guess? It most definitely is not your normal office, even if it belongs to the top-manager.

- What took you so long?

I almost jumped at the sound of that strict voice and momentarily had a flashback of my high-school teacher of German language. You know, these people who can make you feel guilty with just one phrase?

- Uhm, sorry for that. Smartening up, girl stuff, you know…

I resisted the urge to facepalm at how stupid that came out. LaCroix lifted his gaze from the papers, examined my looks from head to foot and then threw me a sarcastic 'oh really' glance.

- Even if you call a simple act of combing your hair and putting on cloth 'smartening up', it usually doesn't require 45 minutes.

Forget what I said about him possibly being a good guy. LaCroix is a jerk.

He carefully put a cap on his fountain pen and placed it on the desk. _Parallel_ to the edge, mind you.

- It would be wise of you _not_ to make me wait next time. I value discipline quite highly, and neglecting it will make your Agoge much harder – if not impossible – to pass. Is that understood?

What was this Agoge thing again? No matter, I didn't want to ask. I nodded, unable to hide my irritation.

- Care to use your faculty of speech, not the sign language.

I felt an irresistible desire to strangle him with my bare hands. Stay cool, Jill. Stay cool.

- Yes, sir. – I put in my words all the moderation that I had at the moment. Which was very little. Nonetheless, that seemed to suffice because LaCroix rose from his desk and headed for the door, motioning for me to follow. What, the sign language taboo did not concern him?

We went to the elevators. I couldn't help feeling uneasy about stepping in the locked space with LaCroix. Considering the circumstances of my Embrace, I guess it wasn't that strange. I braced myself for the long journey of silence and tension but he spoke again.

- From this day forth, you will be attending self-defense lessons. As a Prince, I always have many pressing issues to settle, that is why I found a teacher for you amongst my subordinates. This Kindred is gifted in the field of martial arts, try to learn from him as much as you can. Recent events at your former workplace may prove to you that it is vitally important.

Which reminds me.

- Do you know why Mr. Jason tried to kill you?

Indeed, why would anyone want to kill _such a nice person_? LaCroix glanced at me with an unreadable expression.

- I believe he was nothing but a victim. His mind was dominated or he was otherwise forced into attacking me.

Such possibility never occurred to me. Mr. Jason – an assassin? Pfft.

- How do you know that? What if he'd just gone mad or held a grudge against you for something?

- One mortal would not be able to fool the security system and bring a gun into the Tower undetected. Furthermore, he had no way of knowing I would do an inspection of your office that day.

Hmm. As I recalled the events from that point of view, it made perfect sense – especially the desperation in Mr. Jason's eyes. I felt my hair standing on end. That means… I opened my mouth to state the obvious but our elevator ride came to an end. Doors slide open on the 62nd floor.

Before my eyes appeared not the usual corridor but a spacious antechamber decorated in bright colors, with several white leather sofas and armchairs. The wall opposite the elevator was ornamented with the low relief picturing some antique athletes. While I surveyed the surroundings, LaCroix made his way towards one of the doors. I followed shortly after and found myself in another roomy hall. This one was devoid of any furniture or paintings – just white walls and light wooden floor.

LaCroix looked around as if it wasn't obvious that no-one was there. Then he puzzled me even more by calling someone out:

- Lindt, show yourself.

Had he lost his marbles? It's a perfectly empty room. I was about to enlighten him on that fact when I noticed a movement nearby and then _out of the thin air_ appeared the most horrendous being I've ever seen. I let out a shriek and raced to the door. Or_ would have raced_ if LaCroix didn't catch me by the collar. He pulled me back and hissed angrily into my ear:

- Calm down, he isn't going to eat you.

Oh, he isn't?

– It's your coach, Lindt. He is a nosferatu. I did tell you about them, didn't I?

Oh… So that's how they look like. I warily stole a glance in the direction of said specimen. Well, hearing about them is one thing but meeting one in person… To say that it was a shocking experience would be a big understatement. Damn it, LaCroix should have at least warned me! When he let go of my collar I turned to Lindt, smiling apologetically.

- S-sorry, I was taken by surprise. I've never seen anyone become invisible before.

And neither had I seen anyone so disgustingly looking. He had probably guessed my train of thought because when he glared back, his distorted face wore a sour expression.

Before he could answer (if he even intended to), LaCroix cut in, addressing to him.

- I leave my Childe in your care. Miss Donovan, - he turned to me, - after the training I expect you in my office.

And so he went out, leaving me alone with that guy. After having a good look on the nosferatu I relaxed a bit. He may have looked like he just came out of the meet grinder, but it still was obvious that he once was a human. I noticed him putting a small book in his hip pocket. I was curious of what he was reading but didn't dare to ask. Instead, I introduced myself.

- My name is Jill, nice to meet you, - I mustered a friendly smile, trying to look directly in his eyes instead of gawking at his shirtless torso, covered with cankers and sores. He answered with a somewhat predatory grin of his, massaging his knuckles. – W-what are you doing?

I couldn't hide the tremor in my voice when I watched my coach suddenly put his body into fighting position.

- Defend youself! – he croaked and rushed to me.

- Wait a second! – I cried and instinctively covered my head with both hands. A hard blow landed accurately on my solar plexus, knocking the air out of my lungs.

What the HELL is happening?!

- To block a punch hold your hands like this, fledgling, - clenching my sore abdomen, I squinted at him; a spasm of muscles making me unable to draw a breath and therefore unable to say anything. And_ oh, I would really like_ to say little something along the lines of 'what the fuck'. Not that I had time to anyway because he stroke again. I used his advice – not a moment too soon – and managed to block his blow.

Before I could rejoice at my success I was tripped up and my chest pressed down by the foot. I nearly fainted when I noticed that this nasty bluish foot was shoeless.

- If you don't move you make yourself an easy target.

He finally removed his foot and extended a hand to me, offering help. Normally, I would be squeamish about taking it but as long as it meant the end of this sparring… But the second I took Lindt's hand I was rapidly pulled up and thrown into the wall. When my face impacted with the stone I've heard a sickening crunch and felt a sharp stab of pain. My nose stopped bleeding almost immediately but even a smell of one drop was overwhelming.

- Don't lower your guard, - Lindt chuckled hoarsely, unpleasant grin plastered on his face. I stood up, not breaking our eye contact. Blood drop reached my upper lip and I licked it away.

The taste of blood soothed me a little but the fact that it was mine was disturbing. Can we end this fight already? My body was aching all over. I wanted to go to my room, take a relaxing bubble bath and pity myself to a heart's content.

- Are you gonna start doing something or just continue being beaten up? Or maybe you'll cry like daddy's little princess?

This bastard! I've never fought in my life, what did he expect?! The lesson wasn't going to end anytime soon – this much was obvious. Feeling despair and anger rising inside, I clenched my fists. Before my common sense could stop me, I blurted out:

- I suggest we go on and find out who's gonna cry, _pretty boy_.

This was intended to be a witty retort but considering the difference between our skill levels it sounded quite pathetic (although, I think the nickname wound him a little). Nevertheless I rushed to the nosferatu and aimed a blow at his chin. Unsurprisingly, my attempt wasn't successful – he easily dodged and counterattacked.

I tried again and again, missing each time. With every punch or kick I received I was becoming increasingly more irritated at my inability to even scratch that bloody nosferatu in return. From time to time he gave me some laconic advices but it was hard to concentrate on them – the sparring was draining out all of my mental and physical power. At the end anger was the only thing keeping me on my legs.

And when I was about to collapse on the ground, completely exhausted...

- That is enough for today, fledgling, - Lindt said smirking. With a pang of annoyance I noticed that he didn't look tired at all. – See you tomorrow.

With that, he vanished into thin air. Is it really over or is it another trick to catch me defenseless? Holding my breath, I looked around with suspicion but after a few seconds I relaxed. Seemed that this terrible, endless lesson was really over. I let this thought sink in. It is over. Sighing heavily, I dragged my feet to the antechamber and fell onto the sofa.

Phew! That was not a training of self-defense I would recommend to anyone. Now I knew what my personal hell looked like – an everlasting sparring with Lindt. When LaCroix told me about these lessons I knew I wouldn't enjoy them in the slightest, but this… this was beyond my worst apprehensions. At the moment I didn't even have enough power to hate him for making me go through this trial.

And then I remembered LaCroix was waiting for me in his office. I wasn't sure I would be able to gather enough strength… maybe I let myself stay here for a little bit longer?

_'It would be wise of you not to make me wait next time.'_

Okay, okay!

Using the last bits of willpower I didn't knew I had, I pulled myself up and went to the elevator.


End file.
